Riccar and Caylinn: The First Gifted
by Lord of Kavaka
Summary: More tales of Riccar and Caylinn, and their quest for the Soul Fusion spell. Mainly original characters Riccar/Caylinn, but will have hints of Richard/Kahlan. Tie-in to SOUL FUSION. This will also be acting as a lead-in to CONSEQUENCES.
1. The Night of the Festival

**TITLE**: The First Gifted  
><strong>AUTHOR<strong>: Lord of Kavaka  
><strong>CHARACTERS<strong>: Original Characters Riccar/Caylinn, w/ hints of Richard/Kahlan  
><strong>RATING<strong>: PG-16 / T  
><strong>TIMELINE<strong>: CONSEQUENCES series; tie-in to SOUL FUSION.  
><strong>STORY TYPE<strong>: Adventure/Romance  
><strong>SPOILERS<strong>: Anything from Season 1 & 2, and the books.  
><strong>DISCLAIMER<strong>: I do not own them, and I make no profit.  
><strong>SUMMARY<strong>: More tales of Riccar and Caylinn, and their quest for the Soul Fusion spell. Part of the CONSEQUENCES series.  
><strong>AUTHOR'SNOTE<strong>: This is just for fun. I felt like exploring more of the back story I invented for SOUL FUSION involving Riccar and Caylinn.

* * *

><p><strong>THE FIRST GIFTED – 1 – The Night of the Festival<strong>

He stood still and silent on the edge of the promontory, his arms folded across his chest, looking down on the valley. The night air was cool and crisp, and he inhaled slowly, letting his lungs fill to the max before exhaling. The village below was only visible thanks to the cluster of flickering lights from the large outside fires. He narrowed his eyes as he stared down at them. The festival was underway. No doubt the others were already deep in their celebration of the gifts given to them by the Creator. He didn't feel like celebrating. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, feeling more defeated than jubilant.

"I thought I'd find you here, Riccar," came her voice.

He stiffened, but did not turn around, knowing precisely whom it was. Only _she_ would come in search of him.

"I did not feel like celebrating," he answered her unspoken question.

"Why?" she asked, curious. "Is it because of my father?"

"Taygen? Ha," Riccar harrumphed. "No. Your father does not scare me. And nor do I care about his opinion of me." He held back, not wanting to inform her about the secret meeting he had had with her father a few days ago.

She came closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her touched instantly calmed him. Just her presence was enough to soothe him, but still, he was tense. The village council had met earlier today—an emergency meeting, as it were—to discuss his proposal. Many had been irritated with his urgent need for a decision, but they came nonetheless to hear him. However, Riccar had been shot down before he could even begin. It had been her father who had lead the opposition—no surprise there, even considering the private talk he had had with the man prior. And it did not help that he was the First, the head of the council.

"He told me to stop seeing you," she said.

He laughed mirthlessly. Now that _did_ surprise him. He didn't think Taygen could be so petty, or make things all the more difficult. He finally had to look at her. He tilted his head to gaze upon her, basking in her beauty. Her long brunette hair tumbled down past her shoulders and her blue eyes twinkled with mischief as she smiled coyly at him.

"As you can see, I have chosen to disregard that parental order," she chuckled and stepped closer to him, allowing him to slip his arm around her waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder and let out a sigh. "How did the meeting with the council go?"

Riccar snorted. "Not well," he said. "They denied my request for funds and supplies. They said I was being young and foolish." He let out a disappointed sigh and stared back down at the bonfires of the festival celebration. "What are you doing here, Caylinn? Shouldn't you be down there, dancing with Fromir?"

Caylinn laughed, a full belly laugh. "Him! No. My father favors him. _I_ do not. I'd rather be up here with you and your solitude of rejection."

Riccar smirked. "Is it that obvious."

"To everyone, yes," Caylinn laughed. "Even the village children noticed your morose mood."

"That's because they are usually always following me around," Riccar replied with a grin. "They like learning about the forest and the wonders that can be found there."

She chuckled softly, and sighed as she leaned further into him. "We could run away," she suggested, glancing up at him. "Just you and me, and be together."

Riccar shook his head, dismissing the idea. "We couldn't do that, Caylinn. This is our home. We are of the gifted. We should stay here. I want to marry you here… raise our children… _here_."

Caylinn let out a frustrated breath and ran her hand down to his, interlacing their fingers. "Then what do we do?"

"We wait," he said. "Taygen, your father, is old. Soon he will have to step down as the First. Garth is next in line. His feelings towards me are more… _neutral_."

"You think Garth would bless our union?" she inquired.

Riccar thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I think he would," he asserted. "And then your father could object as much as he wished, yet will be unable to stop what is. The law is the law. The First's decision is final."

"I wish he did not disapprove of you so," Caylinn let out a frustrated breath.

"At least your mother likes me… she scares me more than your father," Riccar chuckled, earning a jab in the side from Caylinn, who smirked and rolled her eyes.

Sparks of blue and red lights shot up into the sky above the village. Caylinn smiled and curled up against him. Riccar tilted his head and nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent. He closed his eyes and sighed, finding her presence more breathtaking than the firelights Garth was conjuring for the enjoyment of the young children.

Caylinn turned her head and looked up at him. In the light cast by the firelights, Riccar would have sworn she was glowing with the radiance of the love that was pouring out of her brilliant blue eyes. Her hand reached up and her fingers brushed against his lips. His breath stilled and he stared back down at her. He wondered if she knew how much power she had over him.

"Do you still plan on leaving tomorrow?" she cautiously asked.

Riccar swallowed and gave a tentative nod. "Yes," he confirmed.

"You won't be alone, will you?" Caylinn's concern was evident in her tone.

"No, Dichel is coming with me," Riccar assured her.

"Whose decision was that?"

"It was at my mother's request," he said. "I know Dichel is young, but he is my brother… and I could trust no one other than him to have my back on this journey."

"I know, but I can still worry, can't I?" Caylinn moved her hand to caress the side of his face.

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Always."

Riccar shifted his arms and pulled Caylinn closer to him. She buried her head in his strong chest and he felt her sobs. He knew she was terrified for him. No one had proposed venturing to where he was going to be heading. Those that had hiked up into those mountains had never returned. Still, the rumors of the ancient powers that could be found at Azmith were too enticing. And Riccar believed that he needed to go. If not for himself, then for Caylinn.

Even though she had assured him that she did not care what her father thought, Riccar knew that he was still going to need Taygen's permission to marry her. And the only way to do that with a man like Taygen would be to prove himself by braving the forbidden zone of Azmith. Riccar would never tell her, but it was the condition on which Taygen had placed on Riccar's request for Caylinn's hand in marriage. That was the focus of their private discussion, and Taygen had told Riccar flat out that he would not officially approve of such a match unless Riccar went to the ruins of Azmith and returned unharmed and whole. It was a challenge Riccar could not refuse.

He rubbed his hands up and down her back, soothing away her sobs. Caylinn heaved in a deep breath and leaned back, gazing up at him with longing and love. He brushed her hair away from her beautiful face and tenderly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his fingers.

"I love you, Riccar," she said, her voice thick with deep emotion.

"I love you, Caylinn," he murmured, caressing the side of her face. "Always and forever." That was his plan… and he intended to make _forever_ a reality. There were rumors of an artifact hidden away in Azmith that could help him with that goal.

He leaned down and captured her lips, giving her a kiss to remember him by. Tomorrow he would be gone, headed for the forbidden zone. Riccar did not know if he would return.


	2. The Voice in the Mountains

**THE FIRST GIFTED – 2 – The Voice in the Mountains**

Riccar adjusted the pack on his back, pulling the straps tight as he glanced down to watch Dichel clamber up the rocky slope behind him. Dichel was about four years younger than him, and was still learning to harness the power of the gift that had been bestowed upon them by the Creator. Riccar, being in his early twenties was more adept at the use of magic, but had yet to fully master it. His mother had told him as much, not in a belittling sort of way, more in a concerned manner, befitting a mother worried for her son's safety.

Their father had died when they were both too young to remember. So their mother Mia, a powerful sorceress in her own right, had raised Riccar and Dichel on her own. She had once sat on the council, but had stepped down when their father had died so that she may focus all her energies on raising them. When Riccar had begun seeing Caylinn, his mother had warned him about Taygen, knowing that the First of the Council would disapprove. Since Taygen and Riccar's father had both kind of been enemies.

Fortunately for him, Taygen was not entirely unreasonable, and was highly aware of his daughter's determination to have what she wanted. And she wanted Riccar as her husband. So, for Caylinn's hand in marriage, Taygen had given Riccar a task he believed would be impossible for the younger man to succeed in. Riccar thought otherwise. All that was required was to find the ruins of Azmith and return with an artifact as proof.

Azmith—a mysterious place, ominous in legend and myth. It was said to be the home of the ancient ones, built long ago in the time before remembering.

Riccar had spoken to Garth before they had departed, and had learned what little the man knew about the place. Garth was barely middle-aged, yet he had already lost all of his hair. Caylinn had once speculated that the man's hair loss was the result of a mistake that the wizard had made while casting a particular powerful spell, one that, she theorized, had backfired on him. Riccar's friend Rentu though otherwise, asserting it might have happened when Garth had ended his relationship with Nana, the village midwife. Rentu jokingly said Nana was being vindictive and had cast a balding spell on Garth.

"Give me your hand, Dichel," Riccar called out, returning to the present when he saw his younger brother slip on the loose scree.

Dichel held out his hand, his eyes wide. Riccar locked arms with Dichel and heaved him up, bringing him to the ridge he was standing on. His brother sucked in a deep breath and nodded his head, thanking him for his help. Riccar patted him on the shoulder and removed a waterskin from around his shoulder and handed it to Dichel.

"Here, drink," he said.

Dichel took it with a smile and popped the cap, taking a slow draft of the cool liquid. "Is she worth this, Riccar?"

"Caylinn?"

His brother nodded.

"Yes," Riccar answered without any hesitation. "I only wish I could unite our souls together forever, in this world and the next."

Dichel raised his eyebrows. "You are that sure of her?"

"Yes," Riccar nodded. "I am."

After recovering their strength, the two continued up into the Darah Mountains. Soon they began to encounter snow and they bundled themselves up in the fur cloaks their mother had given them. Visibility became limited the higher up they went. The mountaintops were shrouded in clouds. As Dichel set up camp underneath an outcropping large rocks, Riccar trudged on ahead, peering into the haze of mist, scouting out a possible path for the morning, when hopefully the mist would lift.

"HALT!" came a booming voice.

Riccar froze in his steps, eyes going wide, his hand slowly reaching for the hilt of the dagger he had brought along. He had not expected to encounter anyone on this journey. There was no one else alive outside of Prima… at least that was what the council would have them believe.

He looked around, reaching down inside himself to touch the gift, using what he had been taught, trying to sense the other that was here with him.

A low chuckle filled the cool air. "Strong are you in the gift. I can feel your power… the flow of it, surging through your veins."

"Who are you? What do you want?" Riccar shouted out into the mist, turning around, pirouetting in place. His eyes strained against the grey haze. He could see nothing, yet still, he could sense the presence of something… dark.

"Your destiny is written in the stars!" the dark voice continued. "You shall do great things… terrible things, yes… but great!"

"No," Riccar shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.

The voice laughed again, seeming to take pleasure in his discomfort. "It shall be your doing that will create the greatest evil the world has ever known. And in advance, I thank you for the souls I shall receive as a result."

Riccar staggered back, suddenly knowing whose voice was speaking to him. He trembled, and tripped, falling back into the snow, the voice laughing around him. He closed his eyes and shook his head, slightly praying for the light and strength of the Creator to help him. The voice soared over him, deafening out all other sounds. Riccar clenched his eyes shut and screamed, crying out against the hatred and evil he was feeling all around him.

And then it was gone.

Riccar opened his eyes. He lay there, panting in the snow, not entirely sure as to what had just happened. Was it a vision, or a visitation? Slowly, he sat up and rubbed his hands over his face, raking his fingers through his unruly hair, brushing away the snow that was clinging to him as he tried to come to terms with what had just happened.

"Riccar!"

It was Dichel. Riccar jumped up and grabbed for his dagger. He ran back the way he came, following his footprints in the white snow. Dichel met him halfway, breathing hard, cheeks flushed from the cold and his breath puffing out in front of him.

"Riccar!" Dichel repeated, concerned lacing his voice as he met him. "I… I heard a great roar and then you scream. I feared you had been covered under an avalanche."

Riccar grabbed a hold of his brother and hugged him tightly, needing to feel the reassurance of another living soul. "I'm fine, Dichel. I… I'm fine. Nothing… nothing happen." He couldn't tell him about hearing that voice, no one, not even Caylinn. No one must ever find out that the Keeper had spoken to him.


	3. The Guardians of Black

**THE FIRST GIFTED – 3 – The Guardians of Black**

The snow had ceased an hour or two ago, but the wind was still coming at them like an angry spirit. It was frightfully cold, and it was all Riccar could do just to tug the fur cloak his mother had given him tighter around his trembling body. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and clutched the memento Caylinn had secretly handed to him when they had made their farewell in the village square.

Caylinn had given him a lock of her beautiful raven hair. He had treasured it during his long voyage, occasionally bringing it out before going to bed to run his fingers through the silky strands, thinking of her. He loved her so much, and sometimes he needed to remind himself why he was up here in the cold, freezing his buttocks off. And though he was doing this to prove to Taygen that he was a worthy husband for Caylinn, Riccar also believed that he could earn more than just her hand in marriage as a result of this excursion.

Azmith was rumored to hold the knowledge of the ancients, from the time before remembering. Yet ever since that one night, up on the mountain peak, in the heart of a blizzard, Riccar had been left shaken. Hearing the voice of the Keeper lift a haunting feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The dark words still rang in his ears. _You shall do great things… terrible things, yes… but great!_ He shook his head and closed his eyes. Riccar refused to believe that he was capable of such things. He couldn't conceive of it. It was impossible.

"Riccar! Watch your footing!" Dichel's shout pulled him out of his brooding thoughts.

Stopping in his tracks, he shifted, and secured himself before taking his next step. The path they were following was blanketed in the fine white powder of an early snowstorm. Riccar glanced to his left and spotted the slight glimmer of slick ice. If Dichel hadn't called out when he did, he might have slipped and then ended up falling down the slope towards the precipice, and dropped down into the fog-shrouded abyss.

The blizzard was light, yet Riccar could still feel the chill in his bones that told him it would soon be much worse. They needed to find shelter before that happened.

Inching forward, Riccar hugged the cliff face, pressing his face against the cold hard stone of the mountain as the wind picked up. He focused his thoughts, banishing away the memories of the Keeper's voice. The path was treacherous and he needed all his focus on what he was doing. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder, and looked to Dichel. His younger brother was doing well. Unlike him, Dichel had no reason to be distracted.

They continued at a slow pace, checking their footing and gripping the stones to secure themselves against the hard wind. As they progressed, Riccar began to fear that they had chosen the wrong trail to follow. There was a chance this path would lead to nowhere. The howl of a wolf broke through the wind, and Riccar tensed. Were they being stalked?

He blinked and shielded his eyes against a sudden gush of wind. Squinting, he spied something in the distance. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but then the clouds parted just enough for some light to shine through, illuminating what lay in the valley below.

"Dichel! Do you see that?" he shouted, pointing down to the valley below.

Dichel arched his neck and peered over the edge. "Yes. It looks like it could be a wall, or maybe the side of a building."

"Do you think it could be Azmith?" Riccar asked.

His brother shrugged. "There is only one way to tell."

Riccar nodded and turned his head away from the view. Just then, the wind picked up and he could have sworn he heard a malicious laugh float around him. He tensed, the flurries picking up. And then it sounded, a sharp high-pitched howl of a wolf. There was silence for a moment, and then that lone howl was followed by several more.

Turning his head, Riccar arched his body and looked past Dichel. "Wolves!"

Dichel spun his head around. "They're trying to corner us on the precipice."

A large black form appeared through the white flurries, dark yellow eyes piercing. The beast was the largest wolf Riccar had ever seen. It looked unnatural. It snarled at them and it threw back its head, letting out a shrill howl. More followed, and soon smaller, but equally as impressive wolves appeared, behind the first. Riccar blinked, startled, when he saw that the large beast was staring straight at him.

"Dichel! Get behind me!" Riccar instructed over the din of the howling wind, or was that sound coming from the beasts that were slowly surrounding them?

Slowly, Dichel moved, the snow crunching underfoot as they changed places. Riccar dug into his fur cloak and retrieved a dagger. The blade glimmered in the overcast light, and the metal handle was cold and hard. He held it up, in a defensive manner, daring the large wolf to make a move.

The beast stood its ground, looking at him, staring him down. Slowly, it moved one paw and stepped forward. The others followed suit, and ever so slowly, the circle began to tighten around them. Riccar gritted his teeth as they backed away.

"The precipice!" Dichel called out.

Riccar glanced over his shoulder and spotted an escape. He locked eyes with his brother, communicating his plan. Dichel frowned, but gave a nod. The lead wolf let out a low growl, the sound vibrating around them. Riccar flirted his gaze back to the beast, watching as it raised its head, letting out a long howl.

And then they charged, jaws snapping, nostrils flaring.

Jumping back, Riccar spun around and grabbed a hold of his brother by the arm. At full speed, Riccar ran, pulling Dichel with him. They ran straight for the edge of the cliff, the snapping wolves on their tails. The wind picked up around them, and Riccar could hear the laugh again, snaking and floating around him. It was the Keeper. He was toying with them. Testing them. Riccar gritted his teeth, preparing his him.

"NOW!"

Reaching the edge of the cliff, they launched themselves up into the air. The snarling snaps and growls of disappointed and angry followed them as the wolves pulled to a halt on the edge. Riccar ignored them, and focused his attention. Still with one arm wrapped securely around Dichel, he reached out with his other, and used all his willpower to summon his Han. It reached out and they were pulled further than their momentum could have.

The branch smacked hard against his middle, and he temporarily lost his breath. Gasping for air, clinging on to the tall tree that had been nearly ninety feet from the precipice, Riccar risked a glance over his shoulder. If they had not been gifted with magic, they would have plummeted down to the abyss below. Only thanks to his abilities and strength in magic had they managed to make it. A normal man would have fallen to his death.

"That was close," Dichel let out a breath besides him.

"Yes," Riccar occurred, staring out at the big black beast standing on the edge of the cliff, its yellow eyes glaring at him with a steely determination that was frightening. Shaking it off, Riccar turned back to Dichel. "Let's climb down. That wall… what do you think? A league or two?"

"More like three leagues from here," Dichel huffed.

Riccar thought. "We'll climb down a bit and make camp while still in the tree."

Dichel nodded. "Good idea," he gestured towards the precipice.

Looking back, Riccar noticed that the wolves were scampering down the edge, going down the face of the cliff with skill and ability that seemed unnatural. The leader, however, still stood stark still glaring at them. He swallowed, and turned to Dichel.

"Let's move," he said.


	4. The Old Seer of the Maw

**THE FIRST GIFTED – 4 – The Old Seer of the Maw**

Caylinn sat by the window, looking out at the flurry of activity. It had been several long months since Riccar and his brother Dichel had set out in search of Azmith, and no news of them had reached her ears. She wondered if the old seer Hareen, who served the village council on occasion, had seen what was to come. Her father had been quiet, as of late, not speaking to her. And her mother, bless her, was still trying to convince Caylinn that Fromir was the right man for her.

"Ho! Watch where you're going!"

The sudden shout brought Caylinn out of her reverie. Blinking, she turned back and looked out the window, watching as Fromir, strong and tall, glared at the little scampering children as they darted around him. He was handsome, she'd grant him that much, but he was not a kind spirited man. His brawny chest, bronzed by hours of hard labor out in the sun, glistened with sweat as he stretched and continued the woodcutting.

Fromir, Jagen, and Lokin, had all been assigned the task of building the stand for the ceremony that would soon announce the selection of the new First of Council. Her father, Taygen, was stepping down soon, and Garth was about to assume the role. Riccar had told her that Garth was _neutral_ towards him and their idea of a union, and had believed that the man would bless it, whereas her father would not. Now that her father was stepping down, Caylinn was beginning to wonder if Riccar's quest into the forbidden zone had been premature.

"Quite a specimen of manhood, is he not?"

Startled, once again, from her thoughts, Caylinn turned to see her father standing in the doorway of the room. She frowned and gave a noncommittal nod, averting her gaze and continued with combing her long raven hair.

"Soon it shall be time for you to take a husband, my child," Taygen said, stepping more fully into the room. "Fromir will make a fine husband… strong, and brave… and very dedicated to his work."

"Yes, dedicated to his work," she concurred, not disputing any of the qualities that her father spoke. "But he lacks the sentiments of a kind man. Look how easily he is provoked by the playful scampering of the children."

Taygen shrugged, looking at his daughter with cunning eyes. "How he tolerates the young matters not in the production of strong healthy offspring."

Caylinn gasped, and jerked her head up, not bothering to hide the disgust in her eyes. "Is that all your thinking of… the quality of offspring that shall be produce from a union between myself and Fromir?" she asked, incredulously.

"It is a wise to think of the future, Caylinn," Taygen countered. "I want only what is best—"

"For the village!" Caylinn interrupted, finishing his words easily. "But not for me." She huffed and crossed her arms, turning away from him.

"Can they not be one and the same?" he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

"No," Caylinn shook her head. "Fromir… he… he may be pleasing to the eye, all muscles and brawn, but where it counts, in the mind and heart, he is sorely lacking."

Taygen chuckled. "Are you still pinning away for that fool Riccar?"

"Riccar is no fool, father," Caylinn countered. "Unlike Fromir, Riccar has all the qualities most women would want in a husband."

"He is a troublemaker," Taygen said. "Rebellious and contemptuous of authority."

"So were you, before you became _the_ authority," she spit back, angry.

Her father raised his eyebrows and glanced out the window, watching as Fromir cruelly mocked Jagen, who had inadvertently hit his hand with the hammer. Caylinn followed his gaze and scowled.

"See how he mocks Jagen show cruelly, he whom he calls friend?" She shook her head. "That is not the sort of man you want as the father of your grandchildren, nor the kind of man you want to bed you only daughter."

Taygen blinked and looked back at her. "Wait… please tell me you have not given yourself to _him_?"

"No," she shook her head. "I am still pure, father. He is an honorable man, noble and virtuous. He would never have forced himself on me. And I shall remain as such until Riccar returns to me."

"Then you might have to wait a long time, my daughter," Taygen replied, shaking his head. "You will wither and grow old, turning into an old crone, never to have felt the touch of another."

Caylinn's eyes grew wide. "What?"

Taygen sighed and looked away for a moment. "Riccar and Dichel shall not be returning, Caylinn," he answered. "The forbidden zone is forbidden for a reason. Demons and fierce creatures that no living man has ever seen plague the White Mountains. Even if he makes it to Azmith, which I doubt he will, Riccar will not be returning. He is probably already dead. So please, Caylinn, my daughter… do not grieve for a fool."

"No," Caylinn shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "He is not dead."

Sitting down on the bench beside her, Taygen tentatively placed a hand on Caylinn's shoulder. She stiffened and shrugged him off, scooting away. Looking up, her eyes glared with anger.

"You did this on purpose," she snapped. "You knew… didn't you? You knew the likelihood of his quest, and you still let him go!"

"Riccar is nothing," Taygen said. "He was going nowhere, making nothing of himself. He would never have been the husband you wished."

Caylinn shoved her father away, bolting up and burying her head in hands as she cried, terrified that her father spoke the truth of her beloved's fate. Darting out of the room, her hair flying behind her, Caylinn ran, wanting to create as much distant between herself and her father. He was a cruel man. Only thinking of a future he wanted, and never—_never_—upon what his own flesh and blond hoped for _her_ future. No. He had to have things his way. So he had sent the only man Caylinn had ever truly loved away to his death, hoping that his absence would make Caylinn's love fade.

He was wrong. Caylinn's love did not fade. It grew stronger. Riccar was risking so much for her… for them. So much, that her love for him grew in leaps and bounds. She owed everything to him, and nothing to her father. Nothing. Her father, who only thought of himself and never of her.

As she ran, Caylinn was oblivious to the shouts and cries of others, and soon, when she came to her senses, found herself lost in the wild forests that surrounded their village. For a moment, she stopped, standing starkly still. The Maw was not a place to get lost in. Dangerous predators still roamed the forests, and the sun was close to sitting. Her heart pounded in her chest as the fear dying alone and lost in the woods overtook her.

Turning to flee back, hopefully in the direction of the village, Caylinn came to a sudden halting stop when she came face to face with a crinkly old maid.

The woman had once been tall, but bow in old age she'd developed a hunched back, and stood slumped against her walking staff. The wood was just as old and gnarly as the woman, with a large scarlet diamond embedded into the head of the staff. The worn robed, draped over the sharp shoulders of the old woman, was mottled with mud and dirt, moth-eaten, with holes and loose threads.

A tangled string of colored beads made of glass, stone, and metal hung from the long hollowed sleeves and when the woman opened her arms wide, it appeared like she had rainbow colored wings. Feathers, from various birds, but mainly those of a carrion nature, were sewn along the cowl covering her head, mixed in with dried leaves, various coins, and some tiny bones form perhaps a small rodent of some kind.

Slowly, a weathered hand came up and pulled back the cowl covering her face. Her features were equally as weathered as the rest of her. Feathers and various strings of the colored beads cluttered her long gray hair, unkempt and tangled. Her eyes were a mottled with silver streaks and she appeared blind, though her eyes were as sharp as ever, as evidence by the fact she was staring straight into Caylinn's.

It was this strange attire that gave away the old woman's identity. Caylinn did not need to see her face to know who she was, but when she had pulled the hood down, it had merely confirmed what Caylinn had been suspecting. This hunched, old woman was none other than the Seer Hareen.

"Caylinn, Daughter of Taygen… you are far into the Maw, late as it is," came the woman's voice, still firm and resounding in its old age. "Pray tall, what brings you out here into wilderness, my child?"

"My father," Caylinn answered in a shaky voice.

The Seer stuck on her jaw and gave a curt nod. "He intends to marry you to the strongman… to Fromir, son of Dromir. Yes?"

Caylinn nodded weakly. "Yes, Mistress Seer."

Hareen tilted her head slightly, the beads strung to her robe jangling as she adjusted her hold on the staff. "Lie with the strongman, and you shall have many healthy sons, enough to carry on the legacy of the House of Taygen."

Caylinn gulped and starred at the Seer, the woman who could see the future, gifted, as such, by the Creator. Hareen turned again, her brow furrowing.

"Is that my future?" Caylinn asked. "Am I destined to marry Fromir?"

Hareen stared at her for the longest moment. "The future is not written in stone, my child," the old Seer said. "What I see are possible outcomes of unfolding events. If things proceed as they are, you will be wedded to Fromir, and the strongman will seed you with many strong sons."

Caylinn shuddered, not liking the imagery this line of conversation placed in her head. She only ever wanted to be with Riccar. "And the other possible future?"

Hareen scowled, "A dangerous and dark path that it is, though still a possibility."

So Riccar was still alive. Her father had been deceiving her, hoping to push his own agenda and get her to marry Fromir.

"Should you follow that path, sons are not for you," Hareen continued, her voice turning raspy. "A see man, a man destined for great, yet terrible things. You will lie with him, and the seeds shall be planted, yet now son shall grow… only daughter shall you bear."

"Who?" Caylinn asked, willing it to be the man she longed for, the man she loved. "Who is this man?"

"The troublemaker," Hareen frowned. "He walks a path outside the line, makes his own trail, his own future."

"Do you know his name?" Caylinn questioned, not even hiding the desperation in her voice.

Hareen turned her silver streaked eyes back to Caylinn. "If you marry him, your two souls shall be linked… for all time. Forever searching for one another, and always finding each other. The path shall not always be easy, and many trials and tribulations will mark the way."

"His name, please?" Caylinn begged, having already dropped to her knees before the old woman. She was not ashamed of the tears that welled in her eyes as her hands reached up and clutched at the mottled old robe.

The Seer heaved in a deep breath that rattled her old frame. "The timeless one, is he… boundless and unimaginable. Gifted in ways that only the very first, in a time before remembering, have been."

"Please? Hareen… Mistress Seer… does he have a name?"

"Father of the Slaver, they shall call him, of the great evil all men and women fear," Hareen spoke, almost as if in a trance, her eyes staring off into nothing.

With a sudden move, the old woman grasped Caylinn by the wrist, roughly pulling her up to her feet. She cried out at Hareen's fierce grip, as the old seer slid a palm against Caylinn's abdomen and below her waist, laying it flat above the plane of her pelvis where her womb was.

"If you follow your heart, giving yourself to the man who owns it, a child shall be born from the womb… a child like none other," Hareen hissed, her yellow teeth and decaying breath suffocating Caylinn. Turning back to Caylinn, the Seer stared into her eyes. "The fates will grant you but one son with the Father, and that son shall be a plague upon the world, the bane of all existence… a monster."

Hareen's hand moved up from Caylinn lower stomach and she grabbed Caylinn's head, her eyes boring into hers. "You shall loathe your son," the Seer continued, "despise yourself for bearing him into this world. And for a time, you will cease to love this man you love… and you will tell him… command him... to kill the demon child you bore. And he shall do as you command, fore he loves you with all his heart and soul, more than life itself."

"No… no," Caylinn sobbed.

Hareen's hold on her head increased and Caylinn felt the pressure tightening to an unbearable level. The old Seer's gaze bore hard into hers like a fiery blaze.

"You will remember nothing of this. Nothing."

It all went black.

When Calyinn woke up, she found herself lying alone and unmolested on the dewy moss of the ground before a tall wayward pine. She blinked and sat up, groaning as she brought a hand to her forehead. She had a terrible headache. Shifting, she pushed off the ground and looked around, curious as to how she had come to be here. The last thing she remembered was running out of her home, her father saying that Riccar was dead and that she would marry Fromir.


	5. The Writing on the Wall

**THE FIRST GIFTED – 5 – The Writing on the Wall**

Soft flurries of snow fell around them as they trudged through the ankle deep snow. The tall pine trees were a barrier against the cold wind, but the chill of the evening still seeped in. Their breath materialized before them, and Riccar knew that they needed to build a fire, least their bodies succumb to the fierce cold, which was only added on top of the extreme fatigue both felt from their hurried dash away from the cliff face and the chasing wolves.

"What were those things?" Dichel questioned aloud, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Riccar shook his head. "I don't know," he answered, though it was not necessary. Dichel's question had been rhetorical. By the spirits, he wished he knew what was going on, and what those things were. They weren't wolves—not really, that much he was certain. Those black beasts had been bigger than any timber wolf he had seen. They were monstrous and fearsome, and so very unnatural.

The wind howled around them, and Riccar had to stand stark still for a moment to assure himself that the sound he was hearing was just the wind and not the growl of those fierce and terrible beasts. Dichel stood besides him, hesitant at first, startled.

A tug on his sleeve told him that his brother had spotted something. Bundling up against the cold, Riccar peered through the dense foliage and spotted the white gleaming marbles of that ruined wall they had spotted from up above when they had been trekking along the edge of the precipice.

Trudging through the snow, they pushed their way past the pine trees and made their exit out into the clearing with ease. Pulling the fur hood down from his head, Riccar let out a long sigh. The mist billowed before him as his warm breath touched the cold air. Dichel scrambled ahead, the white powder covering the ground kicking up as he ran. Riccar cautiously followed, keeping a wary eye out for those beasts. He knew that they were being stalked… that those great demons of black fur were hunting them, watching their every move. He could feel them, whenever he reached out with his magic.

"Riccar, look at this!" Dichel called out.

Stepping around the small saplings of spruce and jack pine, Riccar made his way over to where Dichel was standing. With his hood pulled down, Riccar noticed how much older Dichel now appeared. It had been a long couple of months, roughing it in the wilderness, away from Prima and the great maw of the valley they had always lived. Dichel had never traveled that far, or endured much hardship. This journey had tested him, and Riccar was proud of how well his younger brother had coped with it all.

Presently Dichel was gesturing at the ruined wall, towards whatever it was that had caught his attention. Riccar stepped over and brought his eyes up to the flat dirty slabs of marble. Etchings and carvings littered the ruined wall, strange and ponderous writings. Riccar frowned and narrowed his eyes, trying to make some sense of it all. It looked like writing, yes, but like none he had ever seen.

"Do you think this is it?" Dichel asked, excitedly. "The ruins of Azmith?"

"No," Riccar shook his head. "Azmith was said to be a large complex. And this…" he glanced around, spreading out his arms before bringing them back to his body to retain the heat, "this is just a single wall in the middle of nowhere."

Dichel frowned, his brow furrowing. "Then perhaps an outpost?"

"Perhaps," Riccar agreed with a nod.

He stepped closer to the wall. Bringing a hand up, he skimmed his fingers along the grooves carved into the marble. This writing… it baffled him. He had never seen such things before. Not in ruins as old as these.

"Can you read it?" Dichel asked, watching him.

Riccar knitted his eyebrows and stared at the writing. "It's old… very old," he commented. "But yes… I think I can decipher it. It'll be a rough translation though."

Dichel chuckled. "Whatever you can make out will be better than anything I could. It just looks like gibberish to me."

A grin tugged at his lips as Riccar glanced over at his brother, before he returned his attention to the wall and the writing carved onto it. Running his hand along the letters, he sounded out the words. "_Black… white… good… bad… guard… __death… watch… watch…_," he whispered out the rough translation.

"What does that mean?" Dichel asked, completely confused.

Riccar frowned. "I… don't know," he answered slowly, gazing over the engraved letters and words. "No clear sentence structure or definitive start or beginning. I don't know whether I'm supposed to read left to right or right to left, or up and down."

"The last part almost sounds like a warning," Dichel observed. "Like the author of those words was warning us to watch out for something."

"But what?"

"The black wolves?"

"Maybe," Riccar turned back to the words. "Here… the words _black_ and _guard_ are together… and here, the words _white_ and _death_ seemed to be linked."

"_White Death_?" Dichel questioned. "Could that mean something like freezing to death? Warning of strong snowstorms?"

Riccar shrugged. "It's possible."

Turning, he stepped away from the wall and looked around them. The ruined wall was the only structure in the clearing, but it was clear that it had once been a grand outpost of some kind, maybe even a watchtower. Azmith must be close, or at least nearby. The wind picked up and Riccar froze, hearing a howl.

"That was close," gasped Dichel, turning around frantically as he searched for the direction of the howl.

There was a loud crack, and a large pine a few trees deep suddenly toppled, crashing to the forest flower. Riccar tensed, sensing danger. He reached inside his cloak and felt for the dagger on his belt. Dichel pulled his cloak open and pulled out his own dagger, glancing over at Riccar with an anxious expression.

"We can't run from it, can we?"

"No," Riccar concurred. "Whatever it is, it's at home in the forest."

The trees seemed to groan and quake as a white furry beast bounded out into the snow covered clearing. It was large… massive. Bigger than the pack of black wolves that had been chasing them. It looked vaguely human, but had an unnatural bent to its spine. Jagged spikes trailed along its back, gleaming in the fading light. Its forehead was elongated with jackal-like ears that pointed straight up. Powerful forearms rammed into the ground as its hind legs propelled it forwards, its stride not breaking for a single second.

The eyes. Riccar was terrified by the eyes. Ice blues stared at him, locking him in place. Petrified. He was unable to move or look away. Two large fangs, on either side of the jutting lower jaw, flashed as the beast opened its great maw to roar at them. The howl they had heard had not come from this beast… no.

And then it hit him. The writing on the wall: _Black… white… good… bad… guard… death… watch… watch_. Riccar knew the meaning.

Just then, as the revelations hit him, the black wolves burst out of the woods and dove towards the vicious white beast. The great alpha jumped high, pounding hard against the white beast's side, knocking it off its stride.

"Dichel!" Riccar shouted, and gestured with his hands, signaling their strategy for retreat.

They took off, running hard. Behind them Riccar could hear the snarling barks and fierce roars of the black wolves and the white beast as they fought. He didn't risk a glance behind, entrusting that his conclusion had been correct. It was a big gamble, but at the moment one that Riccar was willing to take.

"Tree!"

Riccar watched as his brother scampered up the tallest tree they could find. It was amazing how well Dichel could climb. He was a better climber than Riccar, and managed to make it to the highest branches quicker. But Riccar was on his tail, and they weren't far away from each other. Once they reached a safe distance—though safety was relative, considering that the white beast had toppled a pine before bursting into the clearing—Riccar looked down on the scene unfolding below them.

The white beast was rearing up on its stubby hind legs, swinging its powerful forearms at the wolves, and trying to beat them back. He noted how much like a primate the white beast appeared, but there were so many differences that made him shake that idea from his mind. The alpha wolf, with its yellow eyes, seemed to be coordinating the attack. Two smaller wolves pounced, going after the white beast's hind legs. Their jaws latched on, and held as the giant white monster howled in pain.

As the white beast reared back, roaring and seething with anger and agony, the big black alpha wolf sprung into the air. Its powerful jaws clamped down on the beast's throat, and Riccar watched as the alpha, with a single violent jerk of its head, ripped the white beast's throat wide open. The monstrous beast stumbled for a moment, seemingly unwilling to die, before finally giving in and succumbing to its fatal wound.

The small wolves scampered back, yapping and snapping.

As the large white beast collapse, the earth seemed to tremble. Riccar grasped the branch above him and secured his grip. Dichel did likewise besides him.

The wolves formed a circle around the beast and the big black wolf with yellow eyes climbed up upon the fallen giant. Throwing back its head, the alpha howled, declaring victory. The other wolves followed suit, and soon the dusk air was filled with the eerie howl. And then, the oddest and most unnerving thing occurred. The great big wolf, standing tall on the fallen mass of the white beast, turned its head and stared straight at Riccar with its large yellow eyes.

"Riccar?" Dichel gasped, seeing it as well.

The wolf seemed to stare for a long while, and then it looked away. It snapped and snarled, and then bounded off the giant bulk of the white beast, darting back into the fray of its pack. The alpha growled and howled and soon the entire pack was lining up in formation, scampering off into the woods, leaving the corpse of the white beast behind.

"Wa… what just happened?" Dichel questioned in a stunned breathless voice.

"I… I think they're the guardians," Riccar said.

"The wolves?"

"Yes," he nodded, already thinking back to the writing on the wall. "I misread it… at least read it out of order."

"The words?"

"Yes," Riccar inclined his head, shifting his weight on the branch of the tree, testing it to see how well it held him. "_Black. Good. Guard. Watch_."

Dichel's eyes lit up, understanding. "_White. Bad. Death. Watch_."

Riccar smiled, "Yes, you've got it. I… I think the ancient ones must have used their magic to create the black wolves, making them the guardians of Azmith."

"So you think they knew Azmith was going to fall?"

"Oh, most definitely, yes," Riccar asserted.

"And that thing… that white beast down there?" Dichel cocked his head towards the furry beast, a pool of bright red blood already seeping out around it, staining the pure white snow.

Riccar shrugged. "Perhaps we are looking at the last weapons in a war fought long ago that no one remembers."

Dichel raised his eyebrows, and shook his head. After a long pause, he spoke up. "So… what do we do now?"

"Now?" Riccar considered for a moment. "Now… we wait. We need some rest, and I think I might know what direction to go in to find Azmith."

"How?"

"The white beast, whatever it was, came from somewhere to the north."

"You're thinking that the white beasts have taken over Azmith, and the black wolves still patrol the surrounding area, guarding the ruins even though they have already been overrun?"

"Precisely, yes," Riccar said.

Dichel shook his head. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought."

Riccar laughed. "It was never supposed to be easy."

"You should have told me that before we started," Dichel replied back with a smirk. "Then I might have reconsidered accompanying you!"

They both laughed, shaking their heads at each other. When they were done, Riccar decided they should remain in the tree for the night. Dichel had no argument against that. So they made a bed in the trees and carefully set themselves down, using some climbing rope to secure themselves to the branches, just encase they tossed and turned in their sleep. Neither wanted to tumble down to the ground and break their neck.

Resting his back against the trunk of the tree, Riccar let out a sigh and reached inside his cloak. He pulled out the lock of Caylinn's hair. His eyes softened and he skimmed his fingertips along the silky raven strands.

"Soon, my love," he whispered to the wind. "Soon."


End file.
